The Coquette and the Thane

PART I | Chapter VIII

1:8 | Here the Tiger Plays the Titmouse

Voices.

Distant, foreign voices; the slow, aching creek of a wooden hull; the loose, watery slap of the ocean against a moving vessel.  The ship groaned, masking the sound of Baisyl’s first, pained grunt as he shifted stiff, sore muscles, only to find that-

He was bound.

He frowned—head throbbing, shoulders aching, and stomach empty—and forced too-heavy eyelids upwards. 

Mottled black and grey greeted him first.  Then, gradually—almost painfully so—his vision improved, blurry masses developing bit by bit into more recognizable shapes.  A minute in, he could discern that he was, apparently, being held below deck.  Rope secured his hands behind his back and his ankles beneath him.  He was on his side, on wooden planks, and though he craned his neck he couldn’t quite make out whether or not-

“Ah, my, my, my, lookit what we ‘ave here…” a grating voice with a thick, gravely accent rumbled from above him, a heavy boot landing inches from his face, and Baisyl shirked back, scrunching his eyes back shut and turning his face away.  “’Bout time ya woke up, princess…was about ta pronounce you a goner ‘n feed ya to the nibblers after all…”

The floorboards creaked as the man above him dipped, stooping to a crouch by his side.

“Sure woulda been a shame, though…” he continued, a large, calloused thumb brushing appraisingly along the length of Baisyl’s cheek and chin, and Baisyl tensed, bound hands clenching into fists, “…’cause you sure must be the prettiest damn thing Desper’s netted in a long time…”

Baisyl snapped his eyes back open, his head whipping around, and he came face to face with a dark, leering smile.

“Awww…don’ be nervous, sweetheart…relax-” 

“If you touch-”

“Ah, ah, ah,” his captor scolded immediately, his grip on Baisyl’s chin tightening to something painful and drawing a hiss.  “Come on now,” he purred, lowly, dipping his head so that clammy lips brushed against Baisyl’s ear with the words as he spoke, “I’ve been watchin’ after you…makin’ sure nobody else took their liberties with ya while you was nothin’ but a pretty, defenseless little log…keepin’ my eye on ya…waitin’ ta see some spark o’ life in that icy still body o’ yours…” His breath crawled across Baisyl’s skin, raising the hairs along the back of his neck and sending his heart into a panicked overdrive, “…don’t ya think I deserve a little gratitude for my efforts?”

Baisyl’s stomach roiled; he was going to be sick.  Why couldn’t he have been born deformed?  How did women live like this?

“How’s this fer an offer…you be a good girl, do as yer told an’ don’t struggle…” A hand slid along Baisyl’s stomach, making him swallow down rising bile as it skirted under his vest and tunic, shoving up cloth to touch skin, “…and I’ll promise not ta break ya in half.  Scream, though…” the man cautioned, his hand on Baisyl’s chin sliding down to trace up the length of his throat, “…and I snap yer neck.  Sound like a deal?”

Baisyl grit his teeth, his eyes tight shut and nails digging holes in his palms.  “Do this,” he hissed, “and I kill you…”

The man laughed, loud and sharp, like a bark, and for that, Baisyl couldn’t blame him; even to his own ears the threat sounded pathetic. 

His head still felt dizzy, his muscles sluggish and weak, and his body famished as a whole.  His legs trembled as his captor ran a hand up them—over his knees, along his inner thigh, and in.  When he tried to clap his legs shut, the other’s knee jammed its way between them, pinning one down hard to the deck but causing a sudden tight, painful strain on Baisyl’s ankle bindings in the process, and he barely stifled an outcry, biting hard enough on his lip to draw blood instead.

“My-” he gasped.

“I’ll cut yer binds,” his attacker said, “but if you kick me, or try ta run, I’ll break yer legs, and slit yer ankles.  Y’understand?”

Baisyl shivered, eyes still shut and pulse in his throat.  He opened his mouth, considered a moment, and then shut it again, nodding instead.

“Good girl.”

When his captor moved down, Baisyl opened his eyes, watching with silent attention as the other drew a dagger from his boot and went to work on the rope.  In a matter of seconds, the binds gave, and his attacker wasted no time shoving his legs apart and moving in between them, but Baisyl kept his attention on the weapon, tracking its path as the man slid it back into his boot and gauging how securely he stored it.  Most weapons stored in such places were planted in a way designed for easy access in quick, last-minute emergency situations.  This one was no different, and Baisyl’s heart swelled with a bud of hope.

“Oh, yes, you are a pretty one…” A heavy hand ran along the inside of his leg again, this time making it all the way in and palming him through his pants, rubbing, and petting, “…such a good girl…” and Baisyl silently thanked the stars for his clothes, shuddering with revulsion as the man licked his neck, and barely suppressing a grimace.  He wouldn’t have been able to handle this in a dress.  “So hot for me already…will you be wet, too, princess?” 

Baisyl bit back his retort, managing to hold his tongue only with great effort and digging his fingers tighter still into his palms instead, trapping his lip tight between his teeth as one of the other man’s hands moved for his breasts (the other busy undoing his belt).

Then, “W-wait!” he panted, stilling his captor moments before fingers made it beneath his tunic…there.  “I-I…” He swallowed, “…th-that is, could you…please…” He kept his eyes down, thankful that putting a tremor in his voice came easily enough, and he certainly didn’t have to fake his blush.  “Could you…u-unfasten my wrists, as well?  I…I promise I won’t…I won’t try to…”

If Baisyl had to name one advantage to being perceived as a woman, it was that they were so, so often underestimated.  Stunts that would never have worked in his real body worked nine times out of ten if he threw in the weak, innocent, defenseless damsel in distress act in his current state.

Above him, his captor chuckled lowly.  “Decided ta cooperate, did ya?”

“I…” Baisyl looked more to the side, keeping his lashes low and drawing his lip between his teeth before nodding, once, more surely, “…y-yes, just…please don’t hurt me, I’ll…do whatever you want…”

His attacker’s expression was sheer smugness, victory written all over his face.  “Well, well, well…look who’s a smart girl after all…” He leaned back some, leering as he ordered, “Roll over,” and Baisyl, keeping momentarily true to his promise, complied.  As soon as he did, a hand caught his shoulder, pulling and yanking to help him up until he was upright, on his knees, with his back to his captor.  “There ya go, sweetheart…” The words rolled over the back of his ear, damp and heated, and Baisyl felt hands catch his still-bound wrists, leading them back a bare few inches as his captor leaned forward until-

Baisyl’s fingers twitched, jaw clenching, and a chuckle reverberated against his neck.

“Feel that?” his captor taunted, holding Baisyl’s waist in place as he ground, slowly, into his trapped palms.  “‘Cause yer gonna feel it…over…an’ over…an’ over…”  Baisyl, taking his victories where he could find them, contented himself with the fact that his would-be rapist was, in fact, not so well endowed as he was.  “Who knows…maybe if yer a real good girl…I can go easy an’ let you enjoy it…”

Finally, Baisyl heard the telltale shwpp of steel being drawn from its sheath, and he waited, tense, counting his heartbeats.

One, two, three, four…

He’d only get one shot at this.

Five, six, seven, eight…

The rope wore, slowly, away, Baisyl’s wrists jerking just slightly with each slice as the twines split and loosened under the sharp edge of the blade, his captor’s breath still close against his neck as he cut.

Nine, ten, eleven…

The last bind broke.

Twelve…

Baisyl slammed his head back, hearing and feeling what he presumed to be his captor’s nose breaking against the back of his skull. 

Thirteen…

He didn’t spare it a second thought, already whipping around as the other cried out, cracking the blunt of his elbow against his oppressor’s jaw and ramming as much force of his weight as he could into burying his knee and shin into the other’s lower stomach and groin as he spun full circle.

“Wha—?”

Fourteen…

He devoted two hands to the man’s weapon hand, putting his full body into bashing it to the floor and then cracking his knee hard against the downed wrist as soon as it hit deck—both to pin it and dislodge the weapon—and he snatched up the dagger the instant it fell free.

“How…dare-”

There, things took an unfortunate turn towards the unexpected. 

Jutting his hips sharply up, his captor threw clear Baisyl off-balance, breaking his already sloppy pin, and when his unarmed hand shot out, it caught Baisyl’s shoulder before he could dodge, gripping hard and throwing him back to the floor in seconds.

“So…” his captor snarled, panting, “…ya wanted ta play…tricky little…cunt…huh?”  Baisyl choked, fighting for air as the other started slowly burying two thumbs into the cavity at the base of his throat.  “Well, y’can’t say…” Baisyl’s feet scrambled for purchase, vision blurring as he struggled to free up his arm again, “…tha’ I didn’ give ya fair warnin’…”  If he could just…get…

There.

Baisyl swung his legs up, synching them around his attacker’s waist and drawing himself up as he jerked his arm loose and around.

“But now…yer gonna-”  The other man’s words cut off, abruptly as faucet strangled at the source, as his own dagger buried itself in his back.   He wheezed, once, his hands on Baisyl losing their grip and eyes phasing out of focus.

“You were saying?” Baisyl sneered and pivoted the dagger, screwing it deeper still through flesh and bone and feeling the twitch and jerk of his attacker’s body as his functions failed him. 

“T-t’shkalla…vinth…” he snarled, and spat, and Baisyl grimaced, turning his face as spittle and blood coated his cheek and chin, “…deceiving little…dragon…whore…”  And with a last, fractured exhale, his opponent was done—nothing but suffocating, dead weight on his body.

Baisyl—body trembling freely now with some combination of exertion, lingering magical sluggishness, and the after affects of declining adrenaline—shoved the still mass off of him, withdrawing the weapon from its back and rolling the body to the side as he pushed himself onto shaking elbows and crawled back. 

“I,” he told the corpse once free, attempting with limited success to put back together his disarrayed tunic top and vest, “…am not…a dragon…”

“Oh?” a feminine voice inquired from above, and Baisyl’s head jerked up, the fallen man’s dagger still clutched in his right hand, his left sloppily holding his tunic shut over his chest, and his back to the nearest support beam.  In the doorway at the top of the stairs leading out of whatever hold he was in, a shadowy silhouette cut a small, female figure against the backdrop of the light outside.

“That’s strange,” she continued, “…because I could have sworn you were.”

Footsteps clacked on hard wood and floorboards creaked as she descended, and Baisyl could only imagine what a sight he made: bloodied, half undressed with hair in disarray and a corpse at his side.  By the time his vision adjusted to the change in light, she’d made it to the foot of the stairs, flanked by two orcs (guards, he assumed) with her gun raised and pointed lazily at him.

“Weapon,” she said, waving her own to the side to motion that he drop his, and Baisyl complied.  “Hands, too,” she continued, “up they go…” 

For a moment, Baisyl hesitated, intent on at least getting his clothes back together, but eventually he reasoned that keeping his head bullet free was probably more important than protecting whatever remained of his dignity, and he folded his hands behind his head.  When the armed fairy frowned, eyeing his almost completely bared chest with irritation, he raised his eyebrows. 

“Something the matter, fairy?” he asked.  With the flaps of his vest hanging completely loose to the sides and tunic just barely covering the essentials, still fully open down the front, his posture left little to the imagination, and she sighed.

“Mervil, Dergund,” she ordered crisply, “assure that she has no concealed weapons on her person…” and Baisyl blinked, surprised, watching warily as the two orcs at her sides approached him.  “Try anything tricky, broodling,” the captain warned, “and I shoot you where you are.”

Baisyl frowned, but kept his peace, tense as the two lackeys knelt at his either side, running quick, gruff, businesslike hands over his body.  When one became unnecessarily ‘frisky,’ tracing a thumb gratuitously slowly over the bare curve of his breast, the other barked, “Mervil!” immediately, scolding, “…leave her be…we need her alive for now.  Getting the both of you shot won’t do us any good.”

The first—Mervil, apparently—scoffed, but relented, drawing his hands away as he shrugged.  “Figure she deserves it…but if you say s-”

“Alright, that’s enough,” the captain cut in.  “Both of you, off,” she ordered, “and you…” She indicated to Baisyl, “…fix your clothes.”

Baisyl gladly complied, re-fastening his belt and making quick work of his tunic, sash, and vest despite unsteady fingers.  As soon as he finished, she spoke again.

“Good…now get up,” she clipped.  “We have places to be.”

Baisyl fully intended on complying again.  Unfortunately, his body apparently had other plans.  He made it to a kneel, pushed himself halfway up—and then the world lurched.  His vision swam, blurring and swirling before his eyes, his body swayed, knees buckled and-

Distantly, he heard the captain shouting, “Catch her!” as the ground rushed up to greet him, and he felt arms on him again, breaking his fall, hammocking him before impact.  The voices were getting quieter though, like something muffled under many layers of covers, or doors. 

“Derg, carry her.  Bring her up deck.  Mervil, see to it that that…mess…makes it overboard…and get someone to clean up this place, it looks like a bloody slaughtering house.  Whoever left Kevar in charge of keeping prisoners needs to be taught a lesson in…”

Vaguely aware of being lifted off his feet and feeling an almost dreamy, unfocussed sense of weightlessness, Baisyl thought briefly, off-handedly, of his guard, wondering where he was, what they had done to him, and what it would be like, to collapse in his arms. 

He lost consciousness.

It was some time before he woke.  His dreams, in the meantime, were tireless and turbulent, made worse by the induced, unnatural nature of his sleep.  Between them, he nearly fought his way to consciousness a number of times, catching snippets of conversations—mostly from the crew, but occasionally the captain—something about a prince, a lot about magic, a few things about a witch and a war and a curse, and always, always about dragons. 

Serpent’s Channel, eight miles West of the Carthan Sea

“…could swear to it.  I’m telling you, Derg, it’s powerful.  I can’t even tell what it’s masking, but it’s soaking her.  I had no idea I’d have to pour so much in just to work through it and knock her out.  If I’d just…”

Baisyl phased out of awareness again.

The next time he came close to waking, he felt himself tilting and swaying to a far more exaggerated extent than on any ship, making him think in passing that he must be on a smaller vessel of some sort.  The close smell of the sea and the occasional misty wet spray on his cheeks added to that sense, paired with very near but unfamiliar voices.  Once more, though, he lost it, sinking back into relative oblivion before he could get any real handle on his surroundings, and when he finally succeeded in dragging himself awake, he was somewhere else entirely.

He registered the silence first—quieter, even, than the last time he’d woken—disturbed only by the distant, quiet rush of water against the hull and the soft, low groaning of the ship itself.  When he stirred, he noted immediately that he was also unbound, both his hands and feet free of any restrictions, and he pushed himself cautiously up, onto his elbows, blinking his eyes and waiting for them to adjust, all the while wary of another dizzy spell or head rush.  Thankfully, none came.

Instead, a dark, all but vacant holding cell came into view, the blackness broken only by a few scattered beams of silvern moonlight fighting their way through a barred metal grate at the top of the ceiling in the center of the room, and Baisyl frowned, moving to sit more fully up when-

“You’re awake.”

He jerked around, nearly falling on himself in his haste, and a hand caught his shoulder, catching and stilling him.  “You,” Baisyl accused in a half pant, half snap, his heart in his throat, “are-”

“My apologies, miss,” his guard said quietly, “I should have given you fairer warning…I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Y—mm…” Baisyl cut himself off mid-word, humming doubtfully, but kept two eyes on his escort, in any case, rubbing his still-throbbing neck and willing his pulse to calm.  “You could just…make more noise,” he suggested, and he thought he saw a flash of white teeth, his eyes not yet completely adjusted to the dark.

“I could try that, for you, I suppose.”

“In my defense,” Baisyl grumbled, “…it is black as pitch in those shadows.  I can still barely see you despite knowing exactly where you are…you blend in.”

A chuckle sounded—deep and quiet—and yes, that was definitely a flash of teeth as Kedean tossed him a grin.  “Valid points, milady.” 

Baisyl’s eyes followed the sound of soft, padded footsteps, and a moment later, his guard stepped into the light.  It spilled, white, over his shoulders, lending a luminescent, ethereal glow to his dark skin, and in the first few seconds, all Baisyl could think was that the man could have touched the grate over their heads if he reached, even a little; he was that tall. 

Then, “Better?” Kedean asked, and Baisyl forced his mind back to the present, dragging his eyes off of his guard’s shoulders and over to the far wall.

“Yes,” he said.  “Much.  Thank you.”  When Kedean settled himself, dropping to sit just within the light, Baisyl waited a moment before, curiosity getting the better of him, he asked, “Not that I’m not much more pleased to see you than the last man I woke up to, but…what are you doing here?  That is…why would they place us together?”

Kedean looked up, and seemed to consider a moment before answering. 

“You’ve been out for some time,” he said.  “Apparently there was some…issue…with the man last assigned to watch you…” Baisyl scoffed, and his guard paused briefly, looking curious, but continued without comment, “…and they moved you to this ship, after that.  I’m not sure what they’ve done with the rest of the crew from our ship…my brother, included…but as far as I can tell, we’re spread out over at least two or three separate vessels.  As for why they would place you with me specifically…” He frowned, pausing there.  “I couldn’t say,” he finally finished, “…other than that the captain…she seems to think…”

“Think what?” Baisyl asked, after a prolonged silence, and his guard shook his head.

“Forgive me, milady, but I heard much today that wouldn’t even begin to make sense unless I am missing out on some very…crucial information.  Either she thinks you are someone you’re not…or I simply haven’t heard the whole story, but I can tell you, from where I am right now…none of this adds up.”

Baisyl frowned, hesitant and uncomfortable.  It wasn’t as if he could just explain…

“She seems to think that through me, she can get leverage over you,” Kedean said, finally.  “For what, I’m not sure, but I can only guess it has something to do with your family…” He left a pause there, waiting, before adding, “If your father is smuggling something with you across the sea-”

“It’s not that,” Baisyl said, and at his guard’s look, he shook his head.  “I’d tell you if it were.  I won’t pretend my family’s always been honorable, or even legal, in its business ventures, but she’s not after an heirloom or other material valuable.  She…” Baisyl hesitated, wondering how much he could explain, and eventually frowned.  “It’s complicated,” he said, “but the bottom line is—or at least, I highly suspect, in any case—that it’s political.”

“She is after you, then,” Kedean said.

“Either me, or another member of my family,” Baisyl confirmed.  “There are…parts of my family that have had bad dealings with fairies, in the past.” 

His guard was not stupid, Baisyl knew that by now, and he could read in his face that he understood the situation was far more in depth than Baisyl was letting on, but for the moment, Baisyl had no reason or desire to get into it any more than absolutely necessary and thankfully enough, Kedean didn’t press. 

When his eyes wandered up, out through the grate overhead and to the moons above, Baisyl said, if for no other reason than to fill the silence, “My first nurse, as a child, never would have stood for me going on a trip of any sort under these conditions…would have insisted that it was fatefully unlucky.”

Catching his guard’s raised eyebrows, Baisyl nodded his head up, towards the sky.  “See the moons?  They’re in almost perfect alignment.  She’d have called it the witch’s hour…unholy, apparently,” he said, and Kedean snorted.

“I…don’t believe in fate.”

Baisyl tilted his head.  “Oh?”

His guard frowned, finger strumming thoughtfully against the ship floor for a moment before, at length, he shrugged. 

“I had my fortune told to me, once,” he said, speaking slowly, but methodically, as if recounting a dream and remembering the details as he went.  “A woman…with seven fingers on her left hand…” He lifted a hand, wiggling the digits, “…and more folds of skin than she had hair…wrung the neck of a pregnant hen.  She slit its belly open before me,” His hand cut an imaginary line diagonal down his stomach, “and spilled the innards into a pot.  She then tossed the bits around, dropped them out onto a wooden panel, and minced them to pieces with a chipped machete before proceeding to tell me that I would live until I was ninety-four, witness magic in the rain, make a losing bet with a dragon, kill my own brother…and father the child of a man in a woman’s body.”

Baisyl choked.

“I-”  Kedean cut off, noticing Baisyl’s reaction.  “Miss—?”

When Baisyl swayed where he sat, feeling the blood drain from his face as his stomach lurched in cold panic, his guard stood immediately and approached, concerned.  Somehow, Baisyl managed to—albeit weakly—raise a hand to wave him off, shaking his head, but both to no avail, and in seconds, his guard was right there: catching him, steadying him, and watching him.

“Milady…” Kedean spoke more quietly than before, concern and uncertainty mingling together into something that made Baisyl swallow hard on a very unwelcome flutter of activity in his chest and throat, “…are you alright?  Do you need-”

“N-no, I’m…I’m fine,” Baisyl insisted, and shivered, “…just don’t…don’t…” Unfortunately, somewhere on its trip from his mind to his mouth, what was supposed to be ‘Don’t get so close,’ turned into, “You’re…warm…” and his guard blinked, startled, their faces probably far closer than he intended.

Sure enough, a moment later, Baisyl could have sworn he felt the heat of Kedean’s blush as the larger man scrambled to lean back, putting as much personal space between them as he could without completely dropping his support until he was sure Baisyl had regained his balance.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, “I didn’t realize—that is, I didn’t mean t-”

Without thinking, Baisyl reached out, touching the tip of a single finger to his guard’s lips to hush him.  And then, all else faded in light of the fact that Kedean’s lips were soft.  His exhale was warm against Baisyl’s skin, his body close, and when Baisyl caught the darting flicker of his guard’s eyes to his own mouth, he wanted—suddenly and sharply—so much, to just-

A door banged, loudly and metallically to their far right at the same time that a by then very familiar voice interrupted with, “As beautiful…as that truly is…” and Baisyl turned a poisonous glare on the intruding fairy captain, “…I’m going to have to insist that you break it up.  There will be no mating on my vessel.  You,” The captain indicated to Kedean, “back up, put your hands on your head, and stand.”

Baisyl had conveniently almost forgotten they were still prisoners, on a ship, at the mercy of a bloodthirsty and vindictive she-pirate.  How…bothersome.

“Now that you’re conscious,” The captain’s attention came back to him, “we have some unfinished business to attend to.  I hope you won’t mind joining me on deck for little chat?”  Before Baisyl opened his mouth, she was already motioning to her guards, ordering, “Take the giant human up deck, but keep your guns trained on him this time and do not lose focus, do you understand?  If he moves, shoot him.  Our crew doesn’t need any more bloodied screw-ups being tossed overboard due to insolence…”

Baisyl frowned, watching the armed men handling his guard with distaste—and more concern than he’d have readily admitted to.

“And you,” The captain faced him again, “follow.”

Baisyl huffed, pushing onto his knees and then standing, pleased that the action wasn’t met with any sudden bodily rebellions.  “What,” he asked, “I’m not dangerous enough to get two guns pointed at my head?”

“My men are trigger happy,” the captain explained evenly, her gun on him as he approached, “and I don’t trust them with anything important.  Besides,” She motioned for him to go ahead of her, and he complied, feeling the itch of her eyes on his back as she followed him out, “one well-aimed bullet is perfectly capable of getting the same job done as two, if you decide to do something stupid.”

“I thought I was important?” Baisyl quipped, only half sarcastic as he stepped on deck, and he squinted up at the moons: high in the sky, almost directly overhead, and both nearly full, though shrouded in heavy cloud cover, as were the stars.  He must have slept through the day and half into the following night.

“You are…for now.” 

To the starboard bow, lightning painted the clouds white, barely a second passing before answering thunder rolled over them.  In minutes, the storm would be upon them—surprising, even, that it hadn’t hit hours ago—and Baisyl drew a slow breath, at once giddy and anxious, his eyes scanning the company on deck as his mind went to work.

It was a large ship, far more so than the one they’d come on, but at this hour the deck was nearly empty, save for a driver at the stern, a sleeping man high in the crow’s nest, and the captain and two men monitoring his guard.  The wind was from the south, warm and tinged with the smell of leaves.  That, paired with distant, but audible birdcall meant that they were still near land.  If the winds had been this poor throughout the day, they may well have never made out of Serpent’s Channel, instead only now nearing the mouth of the pass that opened to the sea. 

It was the first time Baisyl had ever truly wished he’d learned to swim.

“On your knees.”

Baisyl complied, and then snorted; even kneeling and as a woman, the fairy—standing at her full height—was barely over a head taller than him.  He wondered how she managed to lead mass groups of six and seven foot men and orcs at only maybe four feet herself, but in lei of having a gun to his head, he didn’t comment.

“Alright, broodling, this can go one of two ways…”

Baisyl opened his mouth.

“The first,” she said, before he got a word in edgewise, “is the one where you cooperate, you answer a few short questions quickly and truthfully, no one gets hurt, and depending on how you answer, you all might even get to head on your way.”

Unlikely, Baisyl thought, but kept his words to himself.

“The second,” she continued, “…is where you’re difficult, lie to me, or otherwise refuse to answer any of my questions…and your mate,” Baisyl tensed, “starts losing toes…and possibly other body parts, depending on the gravity of the situation and how long you continue to-”

“He’s not my-”

“Did I ask?” the captain cut in.  “No.  Don’t play me for a fool, fledgling.  The bond between you two could trip someone if it got any more solid.  Now, where was I?  Oh, yes…the part where I get to shoot at you if you don’t make me happy.”

Baisyl swallowed awkwardly, mentally begging the rain to hurry on its way.

“Where was your ship headed?”

“To Brittaney,” Baisyl answered.  The truth.

“For what purpose?”

“I was…to be wedded,” Baisyl answered; again, the truth.

“Where is your brother?”

Baisyl blinked, thrown.  “Which one?” he asked.

“The eldest…” the captain snapped, impatient, “…the one who was supposed to be on your ship?  Baisyl, or…Basil, or…”

Baisyl swallowed dizzily, mind suddenly racing.  So it was him they were after—but why?  Across the way, Kedean was, understandably, giving him a very strange, confused look.  “What do you want with Baisyl?” Baisyl asked at last, working to keep his voice as natural as possible.

The captain snorted.  “I’m asking the questions here, whelp.  Now speak up, or-”

“You’d expect me to tell you where he is, even if you planned to execute him on sight?”

For a moment, there was silence.  Then, the fairy said, “In my experience, fire-breathers are much more loyal to their consorts than family, yes…but since I see no reason not to enlighten you, you can rest assured: I am not out to kill him.  Any man who your Council wants dead is a temporary asset in the hands of virtually any other race-”

“The Council of Dragons wants m—him dead?” Baisyl half yelped, more than surprised, and the fairy raised her eyebrows.  “Why?” he continued, ignoring her look.  “What could they possibly want with him, dead or alive?  How is he any of their concern?”

She eyed him, her expression some tangled mixture of surprise and amusement.  “You didn’t know?  I realize your race isn’t particularly known for close family ties, but I would have thought that you at least would have…”  Eventually, seeming to change her mind, she shook her head.  “Your brother,” she said, “is-”

Lightning, close this time, split the sky, all but in time with its thunder, and in the brief flash of light, Baisyl made out the shape of land—closer even than he’d expected.  The silhouettes of trees looked gangly and ominous, but their nearness was promising.  Unfortunately, with the lightning came the rain. 

Like the patter of thousands upon thousands of tiny feet rushing forward or the low, hushing crash of a distant wave, it closed in audibly, and as it moved in over the deck, rat-a-tap-tapping against the wood, Baisyl regretfully conceded that though he would have liked to hear the rest of the fairy’s explanation, he supposed it didn’t realistically matter all that much in the end: he’d heard what he needed to.  In any case, it wasn’t as if he had many options left.

The instant the rain touched him, he shut his eyes.  It was cool against his skin, and clean, and he tilted his head back, feeling it wet his cheeks and lips and neck.  It felt, he thought as the magic responded, like a much needed bath, like physically washing away too many caked layers of make-up or eroding away a fake, unwelcome skin.  Like a gritty, dried cocoon being softened and sloughed off, and he didn’t have to see himself to note the changes.

His hair shortened, a neat cut that hung to just above the base of his neck replacing the endless, heavy tresses of before.  His shoulders broadened to their proper width, his hands, feet, arms and legs growing proportionately, and his chest no longer pushed out his vest and tunic.  In the lesser part of five seconds, his clothes fit, as they should, and he wriggled his fingers and toes, opening and closing his fists behind his head and relishing in the sense of feeling natural in his own body again.

At last, he turned a smirk on the gawking fairy captain.  “Now…” he asked, “…you were saying?  Something about why a bunch of centuries old fire-spitters want me dead?” 

She blinked, the bombardment of revelations obviously still sinking in.  Then, “That’s what that illusion spell was!” she realized aloud.  “You-”

But she never made it past that.

Baisyl, taking full advantage of the captain’s distraction, swept onto his feet, catching her wrist, dislodging her right hand weapon, and seizing the firearm with practiced fluidity.  In a matter of a scarce few seconds, he had her spun around, trapped in a hostage pin with her back to his chest and the gun moments before aimed at his own head pressed to hers, and at first, all he could hear was, “Don’t shoot!  Don’t shoot him!  Don’t—move…”

When she quieted, he spoke, “Try magic on me, fairy, and I pull this trigger before you sink an ounce in, understand?” 

As she nodded, her body felt smaller still against him, the pulse in her wrists as fast as a hummingbird against the hand he used to hold them twisted behind her back, and he was reminded, sickeningly enough, of the encounter hours before where he was the woman trapped to a body hopelessly larger than his own, having death threats snarled in his ear.  While he held no fondness for women, the concept of rape turned his stomach like few other things, but he shoved the thought away. 

There was no time for pity and condolences now.

“Lower your weapons,” Baisyl ordered, training his eyes on the orcs flanking his guard.  “Harm my escort, and I bury bullets in your captain’s head…”  As they complied, his hostage snorted, wriggling discontentedly without really struggling to get free.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to get out of this,” she hissed, quietly, but fiercely enough, and Baisyl shifted his hold, eyes still on Kedean’s detainers as he stepped slowly back, towards the rail, taking her with him.

“Oh?” he asked.

“There’s nowhere you can go.  We’re at sea,” she snapped.  “Even if you had weapons and magic of your own-”

“Ouch.  You wound me, fairy…”

“-you couldn’t possibly hope to commandeer a ship with only two men.  It’s impossible, and you can’t hold me all night-”

“Did it seem like I wanted to?” Baisyl asked, perplexed.  “No offense, captain, but you’re really not my type.”  He blinked rain out of his eyes, testing his footing on the rapidly slickening deck and taking another step back.  “I do hope you didn’t get your hopes up, though, and in regards to everything else…you must really take me for a fool.” 

When she said nothing, he sighed.  

“Very well, then…”  Feeling his heel hit rail, Baisyl stopped, braced his foot, and shoved, sending his hostage half-tumbling half slipping forward—though she caught herself in time to avoid falling flat—but by the time she whipped around, he had the gun to his own head, one foot up, on the rail, and eyebrow raised; she froze.

“You’re…” The pirate captain, along with everyone else on who’d caught on, stared, still and tense as if he were a ticking bomb, waiting for the slightest spark of charge.  Then, she shook her head sharply, sputtering with disbelief and flabbergasted contempt, “You’re…insane!”  Silently, Baisyl wondered if she were right, and observed that his guard looked like he at least agreed, though in a different sort of manner.  “You’re bluffing!” she snapped.  “We aren’t even going to kill you—we want you alive!  Why would you-”

“So that I can be your prisoner?” Baisyl retorted sharply.  “So that I can be a pawn in a war I want nothing to do with?  So that you can use me as a toy to bait and lure my mother until you get what you want?” he said.  “No.  I will not trade my freedom for my life and consent to be dangled on a string like a worm on a hook until my purpose for you is served…I am not a dragon, nor am I fey, and I refuse to participate in your petty, vicious, and tyrannical power squabbles simply because my father didn’t have the sense to keep his prick out of things that sprout wings and raze villages to the ground when they wake up on the wrong side of the bed…”

Baisyl caught his guard’s eyes on him—intent, confused, and seeking—and he felt a brief, panging stab of guilt, but shoved it away.

“All you need know,” he said, less sharply but at least as severe, “is that my escort, and the men on the ship that carried me here, are innocent, uninvolved, and of no use to you.  I do regret, though…” He considered a moment, “…that I couldn’t have gotten to know you better, Mister Akuwa,” he decided at last, “…I would have quite liked to have had the opportunity to collect on our bet.” 

With that and a last, fleeting smile and a wink for his guard, he drew a breath, and fired; the shot rang out, someone screamed, and a splash sounded as dark water swallowed Baisyl whole.

 

---

A/N:  So, good news!  Obviously enough...I can access AFF from China, and I have internet in my new dorm soooo...provided that I can find some free time as the semester goes on, I should be able to keep updating, though not as fast, understandably.

What?  That's not what you wanted to hear?  Oh, come on, y'all, you know Baisyl ain't dead.  I can't kill him now...he hasn't even KISSED Kedean yet.  :P